The Dragon and the Star Maiden
by Boogum
Summary: It has been said that dragons cannot love, but then no dragon had ever met a maiden quite like her. A Draco/Astoria collection.
1. The Dragon and the Star Maiden

Author Note: Yes, this is another romance collection from me, this time featuring Draco/Astoria. I'll be tossing all my D/A drabbles and one-shots that I feel are too small to be stand-alone stories here, so do keep in mind that none of these stories will be related, and that I am unlikely to be updating this collection all the time.

That being said, I hope you enjoy my little musings on Draco and Astoria, and don't forget to review. Reviews make happy authors, and happy authors make stories, so we should try keep the cycle going, no? ^_~

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><p><strong>The Dragon and the Star Maiden<strong>

It has been said that dragons cannot love. They are dangerous, vindictive creatures—even when sleeping—and this particular dragon was no exception to the rule.

Despite his ill humours and mendacious ways, some thought the dragon a rather handsome creature. His hide was as pale as the moon, his eyes a deep grey, and his hair flashed with silvers and blond, just like the constellation that bore his name. It was easy to fall under the spell of his ethereal looks, but one should not be deceived. His smile, so charming, still revealed his sharp teeth for what they were, and only a fool would think this dragon didn't have claws hidden behind that disarming beauty of his.

Oh, yes, this dragon was as selfish and mean as the best of them. He was notorious for luring young maidens into his lair for his own evil purposes, and took great delight in tormenting the brave princes who followed, hoping to rescue the damsels from his clutches. It was all a game to the dragon, for it wasn't as if he particularly cared about the girls. He only cared about himself, and was not against roaring in his scary dragon way when the little maidens decided they might like to stick around longer than he liked and not be rescued by their princes. He was very good at getting rid of people when they overstayed their welcome.

The dragon also had an unhealthy obsession with money. In fact, it was rumoured his hoard of gold was so large it was almost indecent. Not that anyone was allowed to go near it. Dragons, after all, are very protective of their gold, though this particular dragon did love to boast of his wealth. It made him feel superior, and he liked to feel superior.

But for all the pleasure the dragon took in his riches and nefarious games, there was one thing that he did lack: a companion. You see, the silver dragon was lonely, not that he would ever admit it. His stolen maidens helped pass the time, but they couldn't offer him the companionship he wanted. His gold may shine in lovely ways and make him feel better than everyone else, but it couldn't talk or listen to him when he was sad. And sad he was. It wasn't so fun being a scary dragon when you were the only scary dragon around, and though people admired and looked up to him, he also knew that they only respected him out of fear. Sometimes, it did get a little tiring.

Then, one day, the dragon saw a rare star maiden. She was small and fragile, not quite at full womanhood, but there was something intrinsically beautiful about her, like a flower just beginning to bloom. Her petals were not colourful: the warm shade of brown that framed her features was rather ordinary, and her large hazel eyes, though curious for their size, were set in a face that was pretty, but nothing startling. She was the kind of flower that could be easily missed if one wasn't looking close enough, but the dragon had an eye for rare gems, and he sensed her worth even before he had spoken to her.

He wanted to know more about the star maiden, but, being a dragon, he wasn't very good at making friendly conversation, and it didn't help that she refused to pay attention to him unless he was nice to her. He huffed and he puffed, stomping his big dragon feet in frustration, almost crushing the little maiden in the process, but she did not back away in fear. Instead, she scolded him dreadfully. Dragons should know better than to throw tantrums when such delicate creatures as she were around, and she did not care for spoilt giants. If he wanted to be her friend, he would have to learn to respect her like a good friend should and not try and stomp on her when he got angry.

The dragon could have easily destroyed her for her impertinence—a single jet of flame would have done the trick—but he was struck by her light and beauty, so he restrained his temper and tried to be nicer to her, just as she asked. It was not easy. He was a naturally dominating and selfish creature, but the little star maiden had a way of getting him to do as she wished, and it wasn't long before he found himself genuinely desiring to please her, if only to see her smile. He treasured those smiles more than he treasured all the gold in his vault, and that was saying something for a dragon.

Years passed, and he watched as the star maiden came to full bloom, unfurling her petals for all the world to admire. She was still not the most radiant flower in the field, but she was beautiful to him, and he guarded her as fiercely as he did his most prized possessions. Yet his desire to safeguard her did not stem from greed; rather, it was a genuine desire to care for the fragile creature who had so taken his fancy. He wanted to keep her safe. He wanted to keep her close.

He wanted her to be his.

And so it was that beauty tamed the beast—not because she was outwardly beautiful, but because her heart had more to offer than all the English roses in the world. The dragon, touched by her sincerity and gentle strength, could not help but love her, despite his mean, dragonish nature. Her heart had whispered to his, and that was all there was to it.

The dragon then did something very un-dragonish indeed. He humbled himself by kneeling at her feet and told her that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. Because he loved her. Because he could not bear to be parted from her.

"Do you mean it?" the star maiden asked.

He nodded, still clutching the ring he had chosen for her in his hand—a small, elegant thing, befitting an unpretentious star like herself.

"Marry me, Astoria."

It was not a question, only a hope. He was a dragon, after all, and did not have the best of reputations. But just as he had seen her worth before even getting to know her, so had the star maiden seen his.

She smiled and leaned down to kiss him softly on the lips. "Yes."

He blinked. "Yes?"

"Yes," she repeated, laughing at his astonishment. "Of course I will marry you, Draco."

The dragon swept her into his arms and kissed her. Kissed her over and over again. No one could have doubted a dragon's potential to love in that moment, but then no dragon had ever met a maiden quite like her. She was something special: a rare treasure he could finally call his own, and like any good dragon, he was determined to keep it that way.

Astoria was his star maiden, and there was no way in hell he was going to let any tight-wearing prince take her away from him.

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><p>Notes:<p>

This was supposed to be a short piece to introduce the two characters. I'm afraid I may have got a little carried away. Oh well.

If you're wondering why I call Astoria the 'star maiden', it's because her name, presumably, was meant to be 'Asteria' in the books, named after the titan goddess of the stars. 'Draco', of course, means dragon in Latin.

There's not much dialogue in this one, but I'm sure my penchant for dialogue-driven pieces will be well and truly satisfied as I write more, never fear!


	2. A Lack of Professionalism

Today I discovered that there are benefits to being sick. Apparently the voice you get when your nose and throat is congested with nasty things is, in fact, rather sexy—just not so much when you sneeze and have no tissues at hand. . .

In any case, inspiration struck, and here I am writing this one-shot. You'll be pleased to know there is more dialogue. ^_~

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><p><strong>A Lack of Professionalism<strong>

Draco drummed his fingers against the table, the tap tap tap merging with the clock's incessant ticking so that the very room seemed to be alive with the sound of his impatience. His eyes were fixed on the thin hand of the clock, watching it move from one dash to the next, leaving the number six far behind—and his good humour with it.

If that little chit didn't get here in another five minutes, he might just strangle her. He did not like to be kept waiting—especially when there were plenty of other things he could be doing. The leggy redhead whose number was still nestled in his coat pocket, for example, would have been more than willing to have the pleasure of his company. Instead, Draco was stuck waiting for a not-so-leggy brunette to remember her meeting with him and show up at his house, and it wasn't like he was expecting to get lucky with _her_.

He sighed and tore his eyes away from the frustrating timepiece so he could help himself to more wine. If he was going to have to suffer the tedium of waiting, he might as well make it enjoyable for himself.

Draco was just finishing his second glass when he heard the familiar knock. "Finally," he muttered, standing up and heading to the door.

He had barely opened it before a petite brunette burst into the room, clutching a stack of files to her chest, and looking rather frazzled.

"I'm so sorry I'm late!" she exclaimed, dumping the files down on his table and nearly knocking the bottle of wine over. "I really did mean to come earlier, but I fell asleep—don't ask me how it happened—and when I woke up it was already past six. I tried to come as fast as I could, but then I couldn't find my wand, and then I had problems with getting the files, and—"

"Enough, Astoria," Draco interjected, rolling his eyes. "You don't need to give me every detail for why you couldn't make it here on time."

"You mean you don't mind?" she asked, eyes wide with surprise, and a little relief.

"Of course I mind," he responded with brutal frankness, "but you've already made me wait forty minutes just for you to get here, so I don't see the point in wasting any more time on the matter."

Astoria hung her head in shame, and even gave a small sniff. "I'm sorry, Mr Malfoy. I really didn't mean to be late. I've never fallen asleep on the job before. I don't know how it happened."

"Sweet Salazar, are you crying?" he demanded, eyeing her with misgiving.

To his surprise, she gave a small gurgle of laughter and raised her face back to his. "Of course I'm not crying. I'm not _that_ feeble. I just have a cold."

As if to prove the truth of this statement, she gave a hearty sniff.

"Ah, that explains the pink nose," he observed, folding his arms across his chest and leaning casually against the door.

Astoria raised a hand to the offending appendage, and he saw the colour spread to her cheeks. "It's not really pink, is it?" she asked in dismay.

Now it was his turn to laugh. "It's not that bad," he assured her, his eyes glinting with amusement. "But your hair—now that's another matter entirely. Did you even brush it before you came here?"

She reddened even further and clutched a hand to her brown locks. "Oh, gods," she moaned, catching sight of herself in the mirror above the fireplace. "You're right, I look a fright!"

He watched in amusement as she set about trying to fix her hair, enjoying seeing her so out of her element. Every day she turned up to work looking the embodiment of neatness and professionalism. He figured it was her way of compensating for the fact she was young and inexperienced—much in the same way she insisted on calling him 'Mr Malfoy', even though they had known each other for years and he requested she do otherwise. She seemed to believe that the more professional she dressed and behaved the more respect she would receive. Yet here she was in a rumpled skirt and blouse, wearing make-up that looked just a little smudged, and with her hair decidedly tangled.

It suddenly occurred to him that if she were to ever share his bed with him, it was this more dishevelled Astoria whose face he would see the next morning.

Draco blinked, shaking the image of a naked Astoria with tangled bed-hair out of his mind. He had no idea where that thought had come from, and glared at the bottle of wine accusingly. Perhaps it hadn't been such a good idea to drink alcohol before meeting with his assistant.

Astoria sighed in frustration and dropped her hands from her hair. "I give up," she muttered, and turned back to face him. "Shall we get started on those files, then? I gather you don't want to be up all night looking over them."

"Yeah," Draco said a little dazed.

He was still trying to get the image of her naked out of his head. It was proving difficult.

Draco appraised the younger woman, taking in her wavy brown hair and big hazel eyes. It had suddenly occurred to him that his assistant was a rather attractive female. He let his gaze drift down, following the gentle rise and fall of her breasts, and the womanly curve of her hips.

Yes, he thought, a _very_ attractive female.

"Mr Malfoy?" Astoria questioned, wrinkling her brow at him in confusion.

Draco realised he had been staring too long and cleared his throat. "Right. Files."

He gestured for her to take a seat on the couch, and then took his place beside her. Their thighs just brushed against each other, and he realised that from this position he had quite a nice view of her cleavage. Not that he was looking, of course. He was more professional than that.

Astoria handed him some of the folders from the pile to go through and immediately started discussing business. Draco found that he wasn't really interested in hearing about missing items in the inventory, or that the budget he had allotted for the research division was not quite covering the necessities. What he did find interesting was the way her voice, normally so girlish, seemed to have developed a husky quality from her cold, sounding much lower and—dare he think it—sexy. Even listening to hear talk about a late supply of dragon dung was somehow alluring, though it was doubtful he even noticed the subject matter. He was far more intrigued by admiring the way she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ears when it fell forward to tickle her cheek, or the way she wrinkled her brow when she was puzzling over something. Indeed, he was so engrossed with the brunette beside him that he didn't even register at first when she asked him a question.

"What?" he muttered, struggling to bring his thoughts back to the present.

"I asked you what you thought of the new plan for the potions development sector," Astoria explained. "I've had some—"

"You know, Astoria, I'm really not interested in talking about this right now," Draco interrupted.

She frowned disapprovingly at him. "Mr Malfoy—"

"Draco."

She ignored this interpolation and continued in her prim little way, smoothing down her skirt as she spoke.

"You invited me to your house so we could go through these files. I know I was late, and I'm sorry for that, but you know these need to be finished before Wednesday, and—"

Draco, who was getting rather tired of hearing about files and other such tedious matters, did the only thing he could do when a woman was determined to keep talking. He kissed her.

Astoria's eyes widened and she placed a hand against his chest, holding him back. "Dra—Mr Malfoy, what are you—"

He leaned forward, resisting the pressure of her hand, and kissed her again—this time much more firmly. She didn't complain this time and seemed to let out a little sigh as he deepened the kiss, relaxing against the sofa with him as he pressed her back against the cushions. It was amusing how easy she surrendered to him, and he smiled against her lips, wondering if his assistant had cared about him more than she had let on. It seemed that her sense of work ethics hadn't quite left her, though.

"We shouldn't be doing this," she said breathlessly, even as she arched herself against him as he shifted his attention to her neck. "You're my boss."

"Mhm," he murmured, trailing his lips along the smooth ridge of her collarbone to her shoulder, his fingers nimbly undoing the buttons on her blouse as he went.

"What if we were—oh!" She gasped as he popped open her bra, the blond having discovered, much to his delight, that it clipped together at the front.

Draco propped himself up on his elbows, smiling lazily down at her. "You know, Astoria, I've always found keeping things professional overrated."

She chewed on her bottom lip, looking up at him with her big hazel eyes, uncertain yet so filled with desire. It was a very enticing look—not that she knew that—and he felt his body respond as it only could.

Draco kissed her swiftly and passionately, earning a small moan as he let his hand caress her exposed breasts. Professionalism be damned. There was no way he was letting her off this couch tonight.

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><p>Note:<p>

I wrote this very quickly during my break, so if there are any typos, do let me know so I can go back and fix them.


	3. Of Passionate Nights & Awkward Mornings

**Of Passionate Nights and Awkward Morning Afters**

His hands were everywhere, and Astoria knew if those caressing fingers slipped beneath her dress that she was a goner. She should not have consumed so much alcohol. Hell, she shouldn't have done a lot of things, but she had been stubborn, and now she realised the truth: she was in way over her head. This man—this impossibly handsome and charming man—was going to have sex with her unless she did something to stop him, but she didn't know how. She was inexperienced and drunk, and she'd be a liar if she said it didn't feel damn good to have his hands explore her previously untouched body.

He kissed her again, and she could taste the Firewhisky burning on his tongue. Gods, he was drunker than she was. Not good. Not good, not good, not good.

"Draco," Astoria tried, placing a hand against his chest to hold him back. "I think we should stop."

He laughed in his arrogant little way and kissed her again, this time more insistently. Her thoughts were distracted for the moment, and she gasped into his mouth as his hand slid up her thigh, teasing the elastic edging of her knickers. Not good, not good, not good.

Astoria pulled back, her breathing ragged, and stared up at him through hunted eyes. He smiled, seeming to sense her vulnerability and wonder. She knew that now was the time to shove him off her, to save herself from making what could potentially be the biggest mistake of her life, but a masochistic need to know _just once_ halted her from acting. Then his fingers were _there_, and just like that her control crumbled away. She closed her eyes, surrendering to him completely as he created little sparks of pleasure inside her, unable to help herself.

She knew she would end up wearing nothing by the end of the night. She also knew she would no longer be able to call herself a virgin. It wasn't at all what she had planned for herself when first getting dressed for the party, but then her plans never did seem to work out the way she wanted. Astoria had bad luck when it came to plans, and tonight that bad luck had led her into the arms of a drunken Malfoy. A very aroused, drunken Malfoy.

"_Not good,"_ Astoria thought one last time, and then Draco did something rather naughty with those talented fingers of his, and she stopped thinking altogether.

**OOOO**

There was something heavy on her back. Astoria opened her eyes, blinking past the thick fingers of sleep holding her eyelids together, and tried to roll over to disengage whatever was pressing down on her. The thing turned out to be an arm, and when she rolled, the arm moved with her so that it was no longer draped over her back, but instead rested quite comfortably just below her breasts, like a sash tied around her middle.

"Oh no," Astoria breathed, staring at the arm as if it were a venomous snake. "Oh no. Oh no. Oh no."

Her eyes followed the pale limb to the body attached to it, which was just as naked as hers, and then she caught sight of the man's handsome features, half shrouded in a veil of silvery-blond hair. It was Draco Malfoy.

"Oh no," she repeated, realising what must have happened.

She wanted to believe they had not had sex, but the foreign ache between her legs told her that something had definitely happened last night. A probe of her foggy memories had her recalling brief flashes of the two of them locked in a passionate embrace, and she had the embarrassing feeling that she may have called out his name a few times and even begged him to bring her to climax near the end of it.

"I can't believe this," Astoria groaned, placing a hand over her eyes.

The arm draped over her body moved slightly, and she froze in alarm, holding her breath as she lifted her hand away and stared at the blond beside her. He stretched out more in the bed, nudging her thigh with his and dragging his arm along her ribs until it was a diagonal strip across her stomach. His hand was resting loosely on her hip. Astoria held back a whimper. She had the mad urge to leap out of the bed, but then the veil of silvery-blond fell away, and she found herself staring into a pair of sleepy grey eyes. For a moment they just stared at each other, and then a faint crease formed on Draco's brow.

"Astoria?" he questioned, his voice husky from just waking up.

She nodded, chewing nervously on her bottom lip as she stared at him through her wide, hazel eyes, her cheeks flushed. Draco swore softly and sat up in the bed, removing all contact with her as if burned. Astoria felt suddenly very exposed lying down and clutched at the sheet to cover her breasts, also sitting up. She avoided meeting his eyes.

"Did we really—?" Draco began.

She nodded.

He swore again and ran a hand through his hair, frowning down at the sheet tangled around his waist.

"I did try to make you stop."

His eyes snapped back to hers, suddenly hard. "Oh, really? Well, you can't have tried very hard."

"Don't throw this back on me!" she cried, her blush deepening to a rich plum, though it was more from anger than embarrassment. "You were all over me before I even knew what was happening. What was I supposed to do?"

"Gee, I don't know, Astoria. Telling me to stop might have been a good idea."

"I _did_ tell you to stop; you just didn't listen."

"Oh, so now I forced you to have sex with me, did I?"

"No! I just—" She huffed and clutched the sheet tighter to her body, looking the other way. "Forget it."

"No, I really want to know."

"Why should I tell you anything?" she retorted waspishly. "You're just upset because you had sex with me and not one of your easy little sluts you can sleep with and then ditch. I know what you're like, Draco."

"Well, you can't be that different from my 'easy little sluts', as you call them, because it's you who's naked in the bed with me, Astoria, not them."

Her eyes flashed. "How dare you! How _dare_ you talk to me like that, you—"

She swung out her hand to slap him in the face, but his reflexes had always been excellent, and he caught her wrist in a firm grip. Astoria went to slap him with the other hand, but he caught that too, and suddenly she found herself pressed down on her back, Draco hovering over her with an irritated expression on his face as he held her wrists like manacles against the pillow.

"Don't even try it," he said softly, dangerously.

She squirmed underneath him, trying to break free, but his grip was not loosening. Astoria collapsed against the bed with an exasperated noise that was almost a sob, more frustrated than afraid. Something warm trickled down her cheek, and she turned her face away, not wanting him to see just how upset she actually was.

"Not so high and mighty now, are you?" he taunted, looking rather smug. "Don't forget that you were the one who wanted to play with the big boys, so there's no point crying about it just because it didn't turn out how you wanted. You wanted this just as much as I did, or you wouldn't be in this bed with me."

Astoria closed her eyes, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks. "I was a virgin, Draco," she said softly.

The grip on her wrists tightened slightly. "What?"

"I was a virgin," she repeated, glaring up at him now. "You were my first. _You_!"

He stared down at her through troubled eyes. "A virgin," he echoed, as if it were some endangered species he'd never discovered before. Maybe to him it was.

Astoria averted her face, not wanting to look at him. "I want to leave. Let me go."

"Now wait a minute—"

"Let me go, Draco!" she demanded, staring up at him through flashing eyes. "You had your fun, alright. You had sex with me. Must you humiliate me further?"

"For the love of—" Draco glowered at her. "I didn't know you were a virgin! I wouldn't have even touched you if I'd known that!"

"Well, it's a pity you didn't know earlier then, because it's too late to do anything now."

"Astoria—"

"Shut up! Just shut up, Draco! I know I made a mistake. I know it's not completely your fault we ended up having sex, but we did, and right now I don't even want to look at you, so just let me go!"

She made to shove him off her and, to her surprise, she actually succeeded this time since he had loosened his grip. Before she could scramble off the bed, however, he latched a hand around her arm, holding her back.

"Wait," he said, turning her back to face him. "I'm sorry, alright. I didn't know, Astoria."

She glared at the bed. "Whatever."

Draco lifted her face to his, meeting her eyes steadily. "I'm serious. I never—I never meant to hurt you. I don't even know what the hell I was thinking last night."

"Oh, so now you regret being with me altogether, do you?"

"No, I—" His eyes smouldered with frustration. "Would you stop being so bloody difficult? You were the one saying just before that you regretted being with me."

"I can't help it. I'm a woman."

"Well, I can see that."

Astoria saw the smirk hovering at his mouth and glanced down, following his line of sight. An embarrassed gasp escaped her lips as she realised the sheet had slipped again, exposing her breasts. She tugged the sheet up, her cheeks burning with crimson.

"I hate you," she whispered.

Draco laughed gently. "Don't get so wound up, Astoria. It's not like it's anything I haven't seen before."

"That's not the point!"

He had the grace to look contrite. "No, you're right. I'm sorry. I'm just not used to virgins, I suppose."

"Ugh!" Astoria exclaimed, wrenching her arm out of his grip. "I'm leaving!"

"Wait, wait, wait, wait," Draco muttered, pulling her back again. "Just wait."

"What?" she snapped, glaring up at him.

"I really am sorry."

"So?"

"So why don't you let me make it up to you."

"How?" Astoria asked, staring at him suspiciously.

"Dinner, on Friday. You and me."

"Like a date?"

He laughed. "Why not?"

She chewed on her bottom lip, staring up into his dark grey eyes. "Alright then," she said finally. "But just dinner."

"Just dinner," he agreed.

A reluctant smile touched her lips. "Then I guess it's a date."


	4. Shade

**Shade**

The front door closes and I hear the blind rattling against the glass from the momentum. Keys scrape against the bench, tossed from a careless hand.

You are home.

I finish conditioning my hair, letting the water run over my naked body for a moment before I turn off the shower. I open the glass the door, stepping onto the bath mat and leaving small imprints of my feet against the thick carpet. I am dripping water everywhere—something you will scold me for later—and as I step away from the mat, I see that the two footprints have elongated and blurred, no longer a mould of my feet, but now a giant's: fat and without shape, like a shoe made of clay that has been crafted by a novice.

The last few drips of the shower stop. All is silent but for the soft clip clap of your shoes on the wooden floor as you move about the house, a concrete and undeniable presence. Even quiet, you are impossible to ignore.

I pick up the towel and dry myself off, then wrap it around me to keep warm. I glance at the mirror opposite me. I see an outline of what might be a woman, a shade painted onto the moisture blanketing the glass. Her hair might be brown or perhaps dark blonde. Her eye colour is indistinguishable, as are the rest of her features. She has no face, no identity. She is a sketch barely started, or perhaps a finished piece of art that has been erased of its meaning.

I wonder if it is you who is the steam that smothers her.

Me.

Because we are the same, the shade and I. We are flailing in nothingness, trying to reassure ourselves of our own existence. You could make me real, but you don't. You will not let me discover who I am.

Who I am. Who am I?

A word shifts, and the whole meaning changes. One certain, one filled with doubt.

I had a name once, though I barely remember it. Now I am just 'wife'. _Your_ wife.

"This is my wife," you say at every party, gesturing carelessly towards me.

The people look at me then, smiling and nodding, but they don't ask for my name. The conversation has moved on, as have their attention, and I am soon forgotten. I don't really need to exist as your wife, anyway. I just need to be there, like a shadow: silent but present. It was only my old name that mattered to you—mattered to anyone. The name you erased when you slipped the ring on my finger. The name that saved _you_ when your parents saw your respectability tremble and so came to mine for aid. Purebloods must stick with purebloods, but you needed someone who came from a family untainted by the Dark Lord. Someone like me.

How lucky to be Mrs Malfoy, people thought, admiring your wealth and good looks. How lucky to have you as a husband. Except they didn't know it was an arranged marriage. They didn't know you cared nothing for me, or that you'd spend your nights with other women while I drifted slowly into obscurity, like an ornate vase going out of style.

Neither did I at first.

You don't see those women now, of course. You grew out of that. But I still remember. I remember every night I lay beside that cold, empty space that should have been warmed by your body. I remember the tears, the despair that curled my throat and choked my breath. I remember realising I would not get my happily ever after, even though I had married the prince.

Cinderella never told me the fairy godmother was evil. She never told me the glass slippers were just a trap to make sure I could not run and so be caught. I keep waiting for midnight to arrive so the spell will wear off, but the only charm that dies is the one that blinded me to your faults. My own Prince Charming, so handsome and perfect. So gently cruel in your indifference.

And yet I still hope. I still hope for you to look my way, to see _me_. To remember my name and make me real. To make me more than just your wife.

My eyes shut, and for a moment the world and I are one, united by our nothingness.

When I open my eyes again, the woman in the mirror has become clearer, though still distorted from the steam. With deliberate slowness, I wipe my hand across the glass, revealing a woman who is pale and unremarkable but for the large hazel eyes that dominate her features. She is not beautiful, and she never will be, but her face is clear now and I should be comforted. This is who I am, except I am still asking that same old question:

Who am I?

Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I?

The words echo in my head, like church bells ringing over and over again, except these bells have no meaning, and I never receive an answer. You've taken too much from me now, and only you can give it back.

I want you to give it back.

Dropping the towel from my body, I walk naked out of the bathroom to where I know you will be. The door is already half open, as if in invitation. Except I know you don't really expect me to enter. There are rules in this house, and I'm about to break them all.

I slip through the door and stand before you, brown hair damp and already beginning to curl from where it has unstuck from my body. You glance up from your papers, and I see the way your eyes widen slightly, shocked at my nakedness, maybe even a little annoyed.

"What are you doing?" you ask, placing your papers down on the bedside table, meeting my gaze coolly.

_We had an agreement_, is what you're really saying. _You don't bother me and I won't bother you._

_Maybe I want to bother you_, I respond, settling myself on your lap before you can stop me. _Maybe I want you to love me as if I were really your wife, not just in name, but in heart. Maybe I'm tired of being your shadow. _

I don't say this, of course. Instead I press myself closer to you, crushing my softness against your firm, unyielding body, as if hoping the contact will make me more tangible. I know you can save me from fading into nothing. I _need_ you to save me, just as I saved you.

"Be with me tonight," I whisper, holding your gaze as I trail my fingers idly down your bare chest. "I want you."

My fingertips brush against the waistband of your pants, but then I feel a tug at my wrist.

"Don't," you say firmly, releasing my hand.

I can see that you are about to move me off you, so I press myself even closer, intending to brush my nakedness shamefully against your body to ignite the heat I know will make your resolve crumble, except my arms wrap tightly around you instead. I bury my face into your neck, holding you close like a child clinging to her parent when she is frightened. Except I am not frightened, and you are not my parent. You are my husband, and I just want you to notice me at least once. Just once.

A sigh escapes your lips, and then I feel your arms encircle me, cradling me against your chest as tenderly as any loving husband.

"Astoria."

The name is a whisper on your lips, almost an exhalation of breath, but it is _my_ name, and suddenly I know who I am. I am Astoria Malfoy: a woman with hazel eyes and unremarkable features. A woman who is real and cannot be ignored. A woman who I _know_ will one day be more to you than just your wife, however distant that day may be.

I clutch you tighter, closing my eyes against the tears that are building behind the veil of my lashes, though for once they are not tears of sadness. I can feel the nothingness inside me fading, chased away by the solidness of your embrace, by that simple acknowledgment of my existence—all I ever wanted.

_I love you_, I want to say. _I have always loved you_.

Except I don't say that. I simply relax against you, revelling in the feel of your firm, undeniably real body, and the steady beating of your heart. You don't say anything either, but you kiss me softly on the top of my head—a seal of possession, innocent as the gesture may be.

I smile and let my tears fall. I have heard your silent words.

_I know who you are, Astoria. You are my wife, and one day . . . one day I will love you. _


	5. Apple Blossom

I was listening to Gary Stadler's 'Fairy Ring' and this idea suddenly came to me. Alas, I do not have the time to turn this into a chaptered story, but perhaps one day I can expand on it.

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><p><strong>Apple Blossom<strong>

Draco could no longer recall how it was exactly that he and Astoria Greengrass had become friends. One day she had simply been Daphne's little sister and the next he'd found himself wondering how he'd ever lived without the absurdly romantic but decidedly charming young witch. But then he had met Sorcha—beautiful Sorcha, who was so perfect with her striking auburn hair and violet-blue eyes. Sorcha, who was tall and elegant and never embarrassed anyone by saying the wrong thing. Sorcha, who could play the piano, paint and sing like a master. Sorcha, who absolutely detested Astoria.

There had been times when Draco had thought that maybe Sorcha would get over her aversion to his only female best friend, but Sorcha was a rather jealous woman. She did not like the fact that when Draco was not paying homage to her, he was always off with that snippet of a witch with the big hazel eyes and masses of brown hair. She did not like the fact that said witch had known Draco since they were small children and could laugh with him about things that she—Sorcha—did not and never could understand. And she most certainly did not like the fact that Draco appeared to forget about her existence whenever that damned hazel-eyed dwarf decided to dress up properly for society functions, never mind the fact that Sorcha was by far the more attractive of the two and should have, by rights, put the little brunette to shade.

So it was that Sorcha—beautiful, intelligent, talented Sorcha—had made her ultimatum. Draco either had to ditch his friend or he could forget about the wedding. The blond had tried to reason with his fiancée, but this was one argument he could not win. In the end, he had said that he would think about it. Three weeks later, and after several more arguments with Sorcha, that thinking had led Draco to write a note to his childhood friend, requesting that she meet him in the apple orchard not far from the manor.

He wondered now why he had chosen that particular spot. The blossoms were out in full force, turning the orchard into a courtyard of white, and making the trees look as if there were bundles of snow hanging from the branches. Astoria would no doubt be thinking the blossoms as diamond crowns or a hundred fairy kisses made corporeal, or some such nonsense. She had always been too romantic for her own good. Perhaps that was why he had never taken her here before. The apple orchard was almost _too_ romantic a setting. It was also known by locals as the place where lovers met.

Draco glanced down at the witch beside him and couldn't help but smile at the expression on her face. Her eyes were sparkling and she had her lips slightly parted, almost in awe, as she stood there with her hands clasped under her chin and gazed at the blossom-laden trees. She looked just like a child entering Honeydukes sweet shop for the first time.

"Oh, Draco," Astoria gasped. "It's so beautiful! Why haven't we ever come here before?" She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, holding out her arms as if to embrace the world. "Mm, I can smell the blossoms! It's like drinking a bouquet of flowers!"

He chuckled. "I thought you might like it."

"Like it?" she exclaimed, turning to face him. "I love it! I feel like I'm at a fairy court!"

"A fairy court, huh?" He folded his arms and considered her through faintly amused grey eyes. "So what does that make you, the queen of the fairies?"

Astoria shook her head. "No. I think I'd just like to be plain old Astoria attending her first fairy ball."

"Then expect to be disappointed, because I have it on good authority that male fairies are prissy, tight-wearing fools who just like to admire their own reflections and sigh verses to the dew that clings to tulips and other such rot."

Astoria let out a gurgle of laughter. "Well, it's a good thing I have you here with me, isn't it?" She nudged him in the ribs with her elbow. "I'll just make you dance with me."

"I'm delighted, I'm sure," he said dryly.

She grinned up at him and just then a light breeze slipped through the orchard and stirred the trees, making a few blossoms shake free and fall onto her hair and face. Draco found himself transfixed by the tiny white petal that clung to her cheek, so pale when placed beside her creamy skin. Without thinking, he reached out and brushed the petal away, and he was surprised at how soft her skin felt—soft and warm. He let his fingers linger in a caress, unable to resist the temptation when she made herself feel so inviting.

Astoria's smile faltered and she stared up at him through those big hazel eyes—eyes that he had always thought a little ridiculous for their size but which right now were just mesmerising pools of green. How had he never noticed before the gold flecks that circled her irises, and surely her eyelashes had never been that long? Her pupils widened slightly and she moistened her bottom lip, drawing his attention to a mouth that was definitely made for kissing. He found himself wondering if those plump, slightly parted lips were as yielding and silky as they appeared. He was almost at the point of putting thought to action when she suddenly turned away from him, breaking the contact his fingertips had with her cheek.

"So, um, you said you had something to say to me," Astoria babbled, still keeping her face averted. "What is it?"

Draco felt like he had been slapped. It took him a full three seconds to realise that he had just been seriously contemplating kissing his best friend. It was another three seconds before he could even remember why he had brought her to the apple orchard. His mind was filled with blossoms and big hazel eyes, but underneath the haze was a nagging memory that was becoming clearer by the second. Sorcha. Ultimatum. Wedding. No Astoria.

_No Astoria_.

"What do you think of Sorcha?" Draco asked, watching the brunette closely.

Astoria shrugged and glanced back up at him. "Well, she's very beautiful—and talented, I suppose."

"That's it?"

Astoria's mouth twisted into a frown. "I don't know, Draco. She's never been fond of me, but she is your fiancée and I respect that, if that is what you're asking."

Draco said nothing for a moment.

Astoria sighed and took his hand in hers. "What's this all about, Draco? You've been acting weird for weeks now." She gave his hand a little shake. "Tell me."

He frowned down at their clasped hands. "Sorcha doesn't want me talking to you anymore," he admitted. "Says I spend too much time with you. She gave me an ultimatum: said I had to give up being your friend or I could forget about marrying her."

Some of the life faded from Astoria's eyes and she released his hand. "Oh," she said hollowly. "I see."

Draco tilted her chin up with his finger and thumb, forcing her to meet his gaze. "I don't want to give you up, Astoria."

His voice was matter-of-fact, but the expression in his eyes was anything but. Pink blossomed on Astoria's cheeks, spreading so that he could feel the heat of her blush caress his fingertips. It struck him then how different she was to Sorcha: this woman who was all hair and eyes—just a slip of a thing, really—yet who was so warm and alive. So dearly precious to him.

Astoria lowered her gaze to stare at his chest; her cheeks were still faintly pink. "So, what will you do?" she asked, staring fixedly at one of his buttons.

Draco let out a deep breath. "Well, I guess I'll be telling Sorcha she'll have to find a new fiancé."

Astoria's eyes darted back to his. "But, Draco, you—"

"I've had three weeks to think about this, Astoria," he interjected. "Today just confirmed what I already knew."

"And what's that?"

He placed his hand on her shoulders, meeting her gaze steadily. "That you're the only woman I need in my life. The only woman I've ever needed."

The corners of her mouth lifted into a smile, but then the warmth vanished and she broke free of his hold. "Oh, Draco, you don't even know what you're saying!" she exclaimed, turning away so that all he could see was her back and the few blossoms nestled in her hair. "You don't want me! I'm ugly and I have absolutely no accomplishments, and you know I always say the wrong thing!"

"I don't care," Draco responded, grasping her by her arms and pulling her back towards him. "I don't care about any of that. I've just spent the past three months engaged to a woman who, by rights, should be every man's dream, and you know what?"

"What?" she muttered.

"I was bored out of my mind."

She gave a watery chuckle. "I always did say that Sorcha had no sense of humour."

"No," he agreed, and then he took her face in his hands and looked deep into her eyes, "but you—you understand me, Astoria."

She looked at him pleadingly. "But, Draco, you can't love me. You just _can't_."

"Why not?" he demanded, raising an eyebrow.

"Because you're you and I'm me, and—"

But Draco had decided he had heard enough. He closed the last few inches between them and kissed her full on the mouth, effectively silencing any more of her protests. It was as if the final pieces of the puzzle had at last fallen into place. The moment their lips touched he knew that he had made the right decision. Kissing her, holding her, being with her—it felt so incredibly right. His body tingled with warmth and his blood whispered with a passion so deep and intrinsic that it seemed to come from his very soul. This was what he had been missing. This was what he had needed. Not Sorcha, but his dearest friend.

He pulled back from the kiss and looked down into Astoria's big hazel eyes, which right now were staring at him like he was some strange vision in a dream—though a very good dream, judging by the faraway smile playing on her lips.

"Oh," she managed to say, almost in a whisper. "I didn't think it would be like that."

He laughed and cradled her face in his hand, running his thumb gently against her cheek. "Think you would be interested in doing it again?"

She met his gaze and her smile widened a fraction. "I suppose I could fit it into my schedule."

"Minx," he murmured.

They kissed again, and again, and then they talked and laughed like they had never done before. Draco knew as he looked into her eyes that there was never going to be a boring day with Astoria by his side. She would drag him off to 'fairy balls' and blurt out what she was thinking at inopportune moments, but then he thought he could handle that. After all, he'd put up with her for this long. He was sure he could put up with her for a little longer.

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><p>Fluff, fluff, fluff. Yes, I very much indulged in the fluffy side of things for this one-shot, but oh well. Sometimes we need a bit of fluffy romance every now and then. ^_~<p> 


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